


speeding up my heartbeat, playing in the flames

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, rated T until one sex scene at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: So the cute barista who smiles at him is nice and all, but it’s, like, a solid third on the list, probably, for why Nolan keeps coming back. Nolan would be a terrible barista, if he had to be flirty and charming for tips like this guy is. He’s good at it, though. It’s embarrassing, but every once in a while Nolan even checks his cup to make sure there isn’t a number written on it or anything, even though that’s super cliche and probably not a thing that baristas actually do. There’s obviously nothing ever there, since the guy is probably older and out of Nolan’s league, but he looks anyway.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 15
Kudos: 441
Collections: Anonymous





	speeding up my heartbeat, playing in the flames

**Author's Note:**

> all fiction and fluff!
> 
> title is from Electric by Alina Baraz
> 
> my only warning is that this is soft as fuck ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It’s a coffee shop that Nolan’s never seen before, which, once he thinks about it, makes sense since this campus is fucking tremendous and he doesn’t think he’s ever spent much time on this particular corner of it. But the leader of his dumbass group project wanted to meet near his apartment, which means Nolan is stuck on the far side of campus with 30 minutes to kill before his 11am class.

The shop is called The Grinders, which is dumb enough to make Nolan snort, but it’s also cold enough outside that a cup of coffee actually sounds pretty good.

The door jangles quietly when he walks in, and the one guy behind the counter looks up. The shop is fairly empty, but it’s cute enough in a homely way, full of mismatched tables and chairs. Nolan could maybe study here, it’d be a hell of a lot better than the library.

“Hey,” the barista says as Nolan approaches the bar. His grin is crooked, and annoyingly charming, and Nolan looks above his head at the menu scrawled semi-neatly on a chalkboard.

“Hi.”

“What can I getcha?”

“Um.” Nolan doesn’t have a lot of room in his budget for extraneous beverages, so— “Just a small coffee, please. Black.”

“You got it. What’s your name?”

“Nolan,” he says, though he doesn’t exactly see the point, considering that he’s the only person ordering a drink right now and it isn’t exactly a complicated one. The guy scrawls it on the cup anyway and grins at him again, and Nolan flushes as he slides his debit card across the counter.

He gets distracted by a text from his sister after he pays, and he looks up, startled, when the barista calls out “Nolan” and slides a cup across the counter.

He nods a thank you and takes a sip. “Oh,” he says, surprised as the sweet, cinnamony flavor hits his tongue. The guy turns around. “I, uh, ordered—”

“Special promo today, free upgrades to holiday drinks.” He leans over the end of the counter, seemingly unbothered by the fact that his elbow lands in a pool of spilled coffee. “I can get you a plain black coffee if you want, though.”

“No,” Nolan says quickly. He takes another sip. “No. It’s, uh, it’s really good. Thanks.”

The barista smiles at him again, looking pleased, and Nolan should probably get out of there, for his own sanity.

* * *

Nolan maybe makes a habit of taking the long way to his 11am. It’s just good sense to start getting up a little earlier on those days, to match his Tuesday/Thursday schedule, and he’s been meaning to get in more cardio, anyway.

He can afford a small black coffee three times a week, and honestly, it’s like he’s _saving_ money because the same barista is there every time he stops by, and every time he has a grin for Nolan and adds something special to his drink. Nothing as fancy as the first day, with that holiday drink promo, but usually something seasonal, a little peppermint or gingerbread syrup or something. The coffee shop _really_ takes the holidays seriously, it seems like, but Nolan isn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Nolan was right that it’s a good place to study, too. It’s not loud enough to be distracting, but there’s a steady stream of people going in and out that provides nice background noise.

So the cute barista who smiles at him is nice and all, but it’s, like, a solid third on the list, probably, for why Nolan keeps coming back. Nolan would be a terrible barista, if he had to be flirty and charming for tips like this guy is. He’s good at it, though. It’s embarrassing, but every once in a while Nolan even checks his cup to make sure there isn’t a number written on it or anything, even though that’s super cliche and probably not a thing that baristas actually do. There’s obviously nothing ever there, since the guy is probably older and out of Nolan’s league, but he looks anyway.

* * *

Nolan stops in to the shop the Wednesday before classes are out for a couple days for American Thanksgiving. His barista is there, working the drinks, and there’s a young kid at the register, someone Nolan hasn’t seen before. He smiles, but it’s a bland, customer service smile. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving was last month,” he and the barista say in unison, and the kid rolls his eyes.

The guy gasps and pokes his head out from behind the espresso machine. “Holy shit, dude, are you Canadian?”

“Uh, yeah.” Nolan fiddles with the strap of his backpack. “I’m from Winnipeg. Are you—”

“Yeah, man, Ontario.”

Now that Nolan knows, he can hear it in his accent. He probably should’ve noticed sooner, but they don’t usually exchange _that_ many words. “Cool,” he says lamely, but he just gets another grin and then the barista works on his coffee.

There’s some kind of maple flavoring in it today, and Nolan smiles as he heads to his favorite table in the corner, his back safely turned.

He gets halfway through the reading for his history class before someone snatches one of his earbuds out, and Nolan jerks. It’s the barista, and he’s looking down at Nolan with that perpetual half-smile. “Hi.”

“Uh, hey,” Nolan says. Is this when he gets called out for not saying anything about how his drinks are always fancier than what he pays for?

“Can I sit with you for a minute?” the barista says, though he doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling out the chair across from Nolan. “It’s my break, but G and Coots are kind of fighting right now, it’s a long story, so it’s super awkward in the back and I’d really prefer not to spend my 15 minutes dealing with the two of them and which one forgot to feed their cat, or whatever.”

Nolan blinks. “Sure,” he says belatedly, though the guy is already sitting down across from him and fiddling with one of his highlighters. He has no idea who G and Coots are—he’s assuming they’re people—but Nolan can probably afford to take a 15-minute studying break.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“I’m, uh, Nolan, by the way,” he says, and the barista grins.

“I know.”

Nolan rolls his eyes, even though he can feel his face flushing. “Now you’re supposed to give me your name, that’s how social interactions work.”

“TK.”

“That’s your name? TK?”

Nolan didn’t mean it as rudely as it came out, but the barista—_TK_—doesn’t seem affected.

“Yeah. Or, well, Travis, actually, but you can call me TK. Everyone else does.” He grins at him and nods when Nolan takes a sip of his coffee. “You enjoying your coffee?”

“Yeah,” he says, feeling brave as he actually looks TK in the eye. “Tastes like home.”

They talk about Canada for a while, just dumb stuff like how they both miss Timmie’s and like hockey, and Nolan enjoys not having to refer to him as “the barista” in his head all the time.

“Teeks!” the redheaded guy yells from behind the counter. “Your break’s over, stop flirting and get back to work.”

Nolan’s face heats, but TK just rolls his eyes and slaps the table once before getting up. “Later, dude,” he says cheerfully, and Nolan watches him go.

* * *

Nolan stomps his boots on the little mat inside the door and takes off his toque as he shakes the snow from his hair.

“Is it cold out there?” TK calls out, and Nolan shrugs. He’s from Winnipeg, so—

“Not really. Why?”

As Nolan approaches the counter, TK pokes at his own cheek with a smirk.

“Oh my god.” Nolan can feel his cheeks heating even more, fuck everything. “Shut the fuck up.”

TK cackles, but he doesn’t say anything else as he starts making Nolan’s drink.

“I’m not tipping you today,” Nolan says, counting out careful change to leave on the counter, and TK makes a little _mhmm_ noise of disbelief from down the bar.

His drink is eggnog-flavored, with a healthy dose of whipped cream that Nolan accidentally chokes on when he takes a sip, and TK laughs at him again.

“You asshole,” Nolan says, and it comes out a lot fonder than he would like. He’s tight on time today, so he heads for the door as TK goes back to the register.

“Hey!” TK yells after him. “You _didn’t_ tip!”

“Don’t insult your customers!” he says over his shoulder, then heads back out into the snow.

* * *

Nolan stalks through the library, pissed off. It’s a fucking Wednesday night, and he got sexiled by his dumbass roommate. Nolan has a calc test tomorrow that he’s not exactly prepared for, and the library is _full_, since it’s a weeknight near the end of the term. He hates the library on a good day because it’s just too freakishly quiet, and he especially hates it when there’s no place to sit and Nolan doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

He has to go up to the third floor before he can find any free spots. The comfy chairs and the seats near outlets are obviously gone, and he’s going to have to share a table with someone, maybe even multiple someones.

He winds his way toward the back of the floor and finally finds a small table that only has one other person sitting at it. “Hey, could I—oh, shit.”

TK grins up at him. “Nolan! Small world. Sup, dude. Sit.”

Nolan does. He’s painfully aware that he’s wearing a ratty hoodie. “Hi.”

“I didn’t know you went here. Well, I figured—college town, you know, but still. What year are you?”

Some girl nearby shushes them, but TK doesn’t appear to notice.

“Uh, sophomore. You?”

“Senior.”

“Wow, the impending reality of the real world,” he says, and TK makes a face.

“I know, don’t remind me.”

Nolan takes out his calc textbook. “What’s your major?”

“Kinesiology. Wanna get into sports medicine—athletic trainer or physical therapist or something.”

“That’s cool. I’m jealous you, like, know what you want to do.”

TK jerks his chin at Nolan’s textbook. “Not a math major?”

“No,” he says with a snort. “I have no idea what I want to major in, I’m just trying to get all my requirements done first.”

“Hey, it took me a while to decide, I didn’t declare my major til, like, two days before the deadline last year. You’ll figure it out.”

His smile is encouraging, and Nolan feels weirdly young. They get shushed again by the girl two tables over, so Nolan buries his head in his textbook and gets in a solid hour of studying until the announcement comes over the intercom saying that the library is closing in five minutes.

Nolan groans and thunks his forehead on his open textbook.

“Wow, do you love the library that much?” TK asks, and when Nolan looks up, he’s closing his laptop and putting it in his backpack.

“No, I hate the library, actually. I don’t know if I can go back to my dorm, my roommate had his girlfriend over. And I have a test tomorrow.”

“You can come back to my place, if you want,” TK says, casual. _Actually _casual, not fake casual like Nolan would have to be if he tried to say the same thing. “My roommate won’t mind, if he’s even home. We have a super comfy couch.”

Nolan tightens his grip on his backpack. “Uh. You sure?”

“Yeah. I live off-campus but it’s not that far from here.”

This—going home with a near-stranger—is probably what his mom worries about when she calls him on Sundays and asks if he’s being “safe,” whatever the fuck that means, but he nods anyway.

“That’d be great, actually. Thanks.” He finishes packing up his stuff and stands, pausing for a second as he looks down at TK. “Wow.”

“What?” TK asks, a challenge in his eye.

Nolan bites back a smile. “I’ve never stood next to you before. You’re short.”

Nolan probably deserves the elbow to his stomach. It’s pretty gentle, but he shoves TK back, anyway.

“I’m not short. Not all of us can be freakishly tall.”

“I’m not _freakishly_ tall,” Nolan mutters as he follows TK down the stairs.

It’s snowing outside, lightly, and Nolan tugs his gloves on.

“You good to walk? It’s like 15 minutes. The shuttle gets us closer, but I don’t now how often it runs right now.”

“I’m from Winnipeg,” Nolan says as an answer.

“Ah, right, the winter wasteland.”

“Hey,” he protests. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, if you’re, like, a polar bear or something.”

“What the fuck, there are no polar bears in Winnipeg. Have you even ever been?”

“No,” TK admits, and they spend most of the walk arguing about the nicest cities in Canada.

TK lives on the third floor of one of those old houses that have been turned into individual units. “Ghost!” he yells, once he’s unlocked the door.

Predictably, there’s no answer, and Nolan freezes. Maybe he _does_ need to do more reconnaissance on people he goes home with.

“Uh, Ghost?”

“My roommate,” TK says over his shoulder.

Nolan tries to be delicate. “Do you, um, think you live with a ghost?”

“My roommate’s nickname,” TK says as he flips on the lights in the kitchen. “Partly because he’s never here, partly his last name. What, did you think I was, like, talking to our apartment ghost?”

TK is smiling, and it’s hard not to smile back. “I was a little worried about it, yeah.”

“Well, ghosts don’t talk, obviously, and of course we named ours Casper.”

“Of course.”

“D’you wanna coffee?”

“Uh,” Nolan says carefully. “No? It’s 11pm?”

TK shrugs and fiddles with the Keurig machine sitting on the counter. “Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.”

“You work at a coffee shop, shouldn’t you be, like, opposed to Keurigs on a fundamental level?”

“In theory, yes. But also I’m a poor college kid who often needs coffee as quickly as possible. So just don’t tell G.”

Nolan has been around the shop enough to know that’s the redheaded guy who sometimes works with TK and seems to be in charge. “Is he your boss?”

“Yeah, he owns the place, actually. He’s kind of a hardass, but he’s pretty cool.”

“How long have you been working there?”

“Since I was a freshman.” TK hands him a mug with a faded Canadian flag on it and a chip on one side, and Nolan takes it. “Here.”

“I said—”

“It’s hot chocolate,” TK says, busying himself with making another cup, and Nolan hides his smile behind the mug as he takes a sip.

“So you make it a habit of giving me beverages I didn’t ask for.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No,” Nolan says. He takes another sip. “It’s good.”

“Well, I am a professional. What about you, do you work anywhere?”

Nolan shrugs. “Just a research assistant thing for one of my professors. Only like, 10 hours a week.”

“That’s awesome, dude, you’re only a sophomore.”

“It’s mostly data entry stuff, not that exciting. The prof is cool, though, she’s trying to get me to major in econ.”

“You don’t seem that excited about it.” TK picks up his cup of coffee and walks further into the apartment, jerking his head so Nolan follows him.

He shrugs again. “I really don’t know yet.”

“Just don’t stress it, bro,” TK says, flopping down at one end of the couch. Nolan sits carefully at the other end and pulls his calc textbook out again. “You need to study more, or you wanna see who’s playing in the late hockey games?”

“I think I can do both.”

TK laughs at him but turns on the TV.

* * *

When Nolan’s alarm wakes him up in the morning, the apartment is totally quiet. He has a halfhearted apology text from his roommate, but he rolls his eyes without responding.

The couch was as comfortable as promised, and Nolan feels vaguely guilty for taking up TK’s time and space. His stomach rumbles audibly, and his eyes dart toward the kitchen.

It’s easy enough to find a skillet in the cupboard, and there’s a carton of eggs in the fridge that isn’t even expired. There’s bread, too, for toast, and Nolan rummages around in the drawers until he finds what else he needs.

“Holy shit.”

Nolan startles, and twists to see TK in the kitchen doorway, pulling on a shirt. Nolan is fundamentally unprepared to see a cute guy’s abs at eight in the morning on a Thursday, so he turns back to the stove.

“Are you making _breakfast_?”

Nolan pushes the eggs around, he thinks they’re almost done. “Is that okay? I was hungry.”

TK is suddenly right there, behind him and close enough that Nolan can smell his deodorant and feel how warm he is. “Fuck yeah. Dude, this is amazing.”

“I didn’t say it was also for you.”

TK pokes him in the side with a squawk, and Nolan twists away. “This is more than you can eat,” TK says.

“Maybe it’s for Ghost. Or Casper.”

“Fuck Ghost,” TK says vehemently. “He doesn’t get your food.”

“Fuck Ghost,” Nolan agrees, then feels sort of bad because he’s never even met the guy.

There’s a table in the corner of the kitchen that appears to be the only eating surface, but it’s small enough that their knees knock underneath. TK must not have early class, since he’s wearing a threadbare long-sleeved shirt and red pajama pants that have tiny moose on them. Nolan’s trying not to stare.

“This is amazing,” TK says, his mouth full, and Nolan looks down at his plate.

“It’s just eggs. Thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Anytime, dude. It’s good to know another Canadian, come over again and we can watch more hockey,” TK says with a grin.

“Yeah,” Nolan says, knowing that he might not do that. Or, at least not until he can get over his crush because he should probably just…not get his hopes up about that.

* * *

Nolan attempts to get over his crush by staying away from the coffee shop for five entire days. He cracks on day six because he seems to have developed a small caffeine dependency, and the coffee in the dining hall tastes like shit. And he doesn’t want TK to think that he’s dead or anything.

He has to work up the courage to go inside, which is fucking ridiculous. G is at the bar and TK is at the register, and they both stare at him when he steps inside. Nolan forces himself to walk in and not just turn tail and run.

“Hey,” TK says quietly, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”

Nolan looks down. He’s so bad at this. “Sorry. I wanted to, I’ve just—been busy. Class and work and stuff.” TK’s face falls for a second, before the smile comes back automatically, a flat one, and Nolan screams a little inside his head.

Actually—whatever. Worst case, he can find another coffee shop. The coffee here isn’t _that_ good. “No, wait,” he continues. “I…I, um, I just wasn’t sure what you wanted. With, like, us, I guess.”

“So you decided to avoid me instead?” TK says, not unkindly, and Nolan flushes.

“I—it was safer than being disappointed.”

There’s a noise from behind him, so Nolan looks over his shoulder. A girl is waiting, looking at them, and TK leans farther over the counter to flash a smile at her. “Hey. Sorry about this, but I’ve been trying to ask this guy out for, like, a month, so would you mind waiting two more minutes?”

Nolan is too embarrassed to turn around again, but she laughs. “Please, take your time.”

“You have not,” Nolan says, once his brain catches up to what TK said, because that is _ridiculous_, he would have known.

“I flirt with you _all_ the time.”

“You’re a barista! You flirt with everyone! It’s good for tips!”

TK laughs. “No, I don’t.” He gestures at the girl behind Nolan. “She comes in all the time. Anna, right? Do I flirt with you?”

Nolan twists, and Anna looks like she’s enjoying this _way_ too much. “He doesn’t. I don’t even know his name, and I’ve been coming here all semester.”

“See?” TK says, sounding triumphant. “I don’t give anyone else free drinks all the time, either.”

“_What_,” says G, who’s clearly eavesdropping, and TK grimaces.

“Anyway. So—”

“Yeah,” Nolan says because mortifying as it is, he was a goner the moment TK gave him that first drink and grinned when he said he liked it. “I mean…yes. Obviously.”

The grin is even bigger now as TK scrawls something on the cup and hands it over to G. “Sweet. I’m working the rest of the day, but you wanna stop by my place later? We can get pizza or something.”

“Sure. When do you get off?” Nolan asks, and he immediately knows it was the wrong thing to say. TK looks delighted, Anna is openly laughing, and Nolan wants to die.

“Done with work at 8. Getting off is TBD.”

Nolan sidles down the bar, trying to pretend this is just a normal interaction. “Sounds good. I’ll stop by around 9.”

G looks at Nolan with a mix of relief and resignation. “Glad you fixed your shit. Teeks was getting super annoying.”

“_Getting_ annoying?”

It just slips out, and G laughs.

“I like you. But Teeks isn’t allowed to give you free drinks anymore.”

Nolan takes an automatic sip of his coffee when G hands it to him, then chokes in surprise because it’s black.

“Sorry!” TK yells, completely unrepentant. “I’ll make it up to you later!”

Nolan needs to leave the premises before he embarrasses himself further, but he catches a glimpse of a phone number, written on the side of his cup, and can’t hold back a smile.

* * *

“I had to drink _black coffee_,” Nolan says, and TK laughs against his mouth. Nolan showed up at his apartment at 8:50, and TK promptly tugged him inside, shoved him down onto the couch, and climbed into his lap.

“Poor baby, having to drink what you actually ordered.”

TK can talk and kiss at the same time, which is the least surprising thing Nolan has ever learned.

“Well, y’know, there used to be this cute barista who would put extra stuff in my drink.”

TK laughs again and drags his hands down Nolan’s chest, fumbling for the zipper of his jacket. “Why are you still wearing your coat?”

“You kind of attacked me before,” Nolan says. When he walked through the door earlier, he managed to get his boots and his gloves off, but that was it before TK went up on his toes, hooked an arm around his neck, and kissed him.

“I didn’t see you complaining.”

“I’m not. I’d like to take my coat off, though.”

TK moves back a little on his thighs, giving Nolan enough room to squirm out of his coat and throw it somewhere. TK pulls off his toque and runs the fingers of one hand through Nolan’s hair, the other prodding at Nolan’s cheek. Nolan groans and closes his hand over TK’s.

“Stop.”

“No, it’s hot.”

Nolan makes a face. He’s looked in a mirror, he knows his face gets splotchy whenever he’s upset or embarrassed or turned on or— “It is _not_ hot.”

“Yes, it is.”

TK kisses him before he can say anything back, which is, admittedly, a good argument. Nolan slides his hand into TK’s hair and holds him there before kissing him back, making it slow and dirty. TK squirms in his grip, restless and eager, his hands clutching and releasing Nolan’s shirt. He slides closer, close enough that Nolan can tell he’s hard, even through his jeans, and Nolan holds his hip and pushes back, as much as he can in this position.

“Fuck,” TK breathes, tipping their foreheads together. “We can’t do anything here, Ghost will murder me.”

“Okay.” Nolan tugs TK right up against him, gets a hand under his ass, and stands up with a grunt.

“_Je_sus,” TK hisses, his arms tightening around Nolan’s shoulders, but he kisses him again, so he can’t be that broken up about it.

“Where’s your room?”

“Down the hall, last door on the right.”

It’s actually fairly difficult to do this—TK might be short, but he’s sturdy—especially when TK insists on stealing some of his oxygen, but Nolan is committed. Thankfully the apartment is fairly small, and it’s only maybe 20 steps to TK’s room.

He gently kicks the door open and loosens his grip, but TK doesn’t move. “Get down.”

“This is super hot, though.”

“You’re super heavy,” he counters, and TK laughs.

“You calling me fat?”

Nolan squeezes the hand that’s still on TK’s ass and sneaks the other up his shirt, over the hot, smooth skin of his back. “Not in the least.”

TK finally gets his own feet underneath him and kicks out of his pants while Nolan tugs his shirt up and off. He has to lean up to kiss Nolan, which is kind of a trip, and he groans when he tries to take off Nolan’s shirt.

“Oh my god, why are you wearing _layers_.”

He’s doing the kissing-and-talking thing again, which Nolan shouldn’t like as much as he does.

“Because it’s cold!”

“I thought you didn’t get cold.”

“Yeah because I dress properly.”

Finally they’re both down to their underwear, and TK pushes him down on the bed and straddles him, sitting right on his hips. “Fuck,” he says, drawn out and kind of awed, and Nolan swallows. TK’s thighs are sprawled on either side of his torso, and he slides his hands up the corded muscle.

“What?”

TK’s grin, even shirtless and in bed, with his slightly-sweaty hair falling in his eyes, is familiar. “The second you walked in, that first day, I knew I wanted to fuck you.”

“Oh my god.” Nolan closes his eyes, but he can’t help the way his dick, like, twitches. Based on the way TK laughs, he doesn’t miss it.

“Then I got to know you, and I wanted to date you. But first, I wanted to fuck you.”

“You did not.”

“Oh yes I did.” The look in TK’s eye is heated, but his hand is gentle, lazy, almost, as he trails his fingers over Nolan’s chest and down his abs. “Just standing there, all tall and beautiful.”

Nolan manages to flip them over, and TK doesn’t protest. “Do you know how far away that fucking coffee shop is from my dorm?” he says, and TK laughs, his hands sliding up Nolan’s back, slow like he has all the time in the world. “I had to get up early. And it’s December, Trav.”

“So many sacrifices.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he says, then kisses him again. Nolan kind of loves kissing, and either TK does, too, or he’s really good at faking it. He constantly touches him, not only his ass and his chest and places Nolan would expect, but he also strokes a thumb over his ear and twines their fingers together and pets his thigh, like he wants to touch every place he can find.

Nolan kisses him every way he can, slow and sweet and hot and hard and aching, until TK has an arm hooked around his neck and they’re pushing against each other desperately, their skin tacky with sweat.

“Wait, wait, wait,” TK gasps, and Nolan pushes himself up far enough to get his knees under him and put some space between them.

“What, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t sound as unaffected as he would like, but TK smirks at him, even as his chest heaves, and runs a hand up his arm, his thumb stroking over the top of his shoulder.

“Nothing. I’m just, like, gonna come pretty soon, probably, and wanted to make sure you were cool to keep going.”

Nolan blinks. “Do you wanna stop?”

“God no,” TK says, and that’s good enough for Nolan. He covers TK again because he seems to like that and slides one thigh between his to give him something to grind against.

He does, immediately, arching his back as he thrusts up, his abs working. Nolan just looks for a minute, watching TK work to get himself off. “Fuck.”

TK kisses him, deep and greedy, his hands tight on Nolan’s hips, and Nolan yanks at his boxers, tugging them down. TK freezes and makes this choked-off, amazing noise when Nolan wraps a hand around his dick, enough so that Nolan has to pause and breathe for a second. He doesn’t move his hand at first, enjoying the thrum of energy coming from TK, the obvious amount of concentration it’s taking for him to be still.

TK hisses when Nolan strokes once, slow.

“How do you—”

TK pushes up into his grip, like he can’t resist. “Fuck, anything, I—”

Nolan can’t _not _kiss him, so he does, and it doesn’t take long at all until TK is muffling noises into his mouth, fingers twisted in Nolan’s hair as he thrusts up against him and comes all over his fingers.

TK lies there for a minute, eyes closed and still, breathing hard, and Nolan kneels up to work his own boxer-briefs down, just enough to get a hand on his dick. He’s pretty close to the edge already, after what’s felt like an hour of foreplay, so he’s slow about it, just a leisurely stroke up and down.

He must make a noise or something because TK’s eyes snap open. “Jesus Christ,” he says around a groan, his gaze meandering from Nolan’s face down to his dick. “I’ve definitely had this exact dream before.”

Nolan swallows and tightens his grip. He’s the one on his knees over TK, but he feels pinned and displayed under TK’s gaze. “And how does that one end?”

It’s definitely the sleaziest, most self-satisfied grin that Nolan has seen yet, and embarrassingly, it makes his dick twitch.

TK slides down a little more, his hands sweeping up Nolan’s thighs. “You, like this. Touching yourself. Pretty close.”

“Yeah,” Nolan rasps. He’s having trouble breathing. And keeping his hand slow.

“Just for me.”

TK’s thumbs dig in a little on Nolan’s inner thighs, just enough to hurt a bit, and he shudders. “Uh-huh.”

His fingers just catch the edge of Nolan’s boxer-briefs, tangling in the fabric, and he tugs them down farther. “Fuck, look at you,” TK says, and Nolan can only imagine that he’s red everywhere. It feels more illicit, somehow, that he hasn’t even taken his underwear off.

“What happens in your dream?”

He’s pretty proud of himself, uttering a full sentence and everything while TK’s hands are sliding up the back of his underwear and grabbing at his ass. TK’s gaze is hot and everywhere, and when he grins again, Nolan catches a noise behind his teeth. “And then you fuck my mouth and come on my face.”

The imagined visual plus the actual visual is more than enough, and it only takes three more strokes of his hand before Nolan is coming with a choked-off whine, all over TK’s chest. TK quickly leans up on one elbow and swipes his tongue across the head of Nolan’s dick, coaxing one more splash of come. TK does it again and again, licking over Nolan’s fingers, until Nolan has to twist away, oversensitive.

He lands on his side next to him, breathing hard, and TK immediately turns into him, laying a warm hand on his side. Half his grin is buried in the pillow, and his cheeks are pink, his hair mussed beyond belief.

“That one’s my favorite,” Nolan says, without thinking.

“What?”

Who cares, Nolan’s already said it. He pokes TK’s cheek. “Your smile.”

“You’re so fucking soft,” TK says, but he looks inordinately pleased.

“Whatever, dude, you gave me free sweet drinks for a month,” Nolan says, and TK smacks him on the hip.


End file.
